


Untitled Peaky Blinders Fic

by AnaLane



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Emotionally Repressed, Feelings, Gen, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaLane/pseuds/AnaLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Darby day. Grace is guilty, Tommy is desperate, and Clive is completely in the dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having trouble waiting for the new episode of Peaky Blinders and am generally frustrated with the dearth of quality Grace/Tommy fics out there, so I thought I'd try making my own. Just for fun :) I haven't written anything in a number of years, but I thought it would be interesting to try to get into Grace's head and write from her perspective. I don't write, but I like to tell myself stories (sort of like fanfiction) when I'm falling asleep at night. These stories are always in the present tense, so that's how I'm writing this.
> 
> Let me know how I'm doing.

                It’s nearly midnight when the phone rings. It wakes Grace from a fitful slumber. She feels her husband climb out of bed. He’ll get it. But who could it be? She wonders idly if it’s Thomas. Perhaps. Perhaps her deepest desires are coming true and he wants to be with her and their child.

                Grace scoffs at her foolishness. He stood her up at the racetrack. It’s not like Tommy to blow off a meeting, but then Tommy has always acted differently with her. If it _is_ him calling, he probably just wants to tie up loose ends so he can start a life with that well-connected horse trainer. Smug bitch.

Actually it’s probably some banker who’s too drunk or too inconsiderate to make note of the time, some business contact of Clive’s. Clive.

 Grace feels a wave of nausea as she thinks about her husband. She frowns at this sign of weakness. She ought to be used to guilt by now. But then maybe it isn’t guilt that’s making her nauseous. Maybe the baby is choosing this moment to make its presence known. Grace smiles at that. Thomas Shelby’s child _would_ be strong-willed, even in the womb.

She hasn’t told Clive about the baby yet. He’d been waiting for her when she got back to the hotel. There had been flowers, and there had apologies for leaving her to her own devices while he was off doing business. He had looked dutifully concerned and just a little bit hopeful when she begged off a night together, saying that she had a headache. He so wants to be a father.

                Sweet, kind, loving, dependable (though admittedly bland) Clive doesn’t deserve any of this horror she’s about to unleash on him. Grace wants to love him. She has _tried_ to love him, the way he seems to love her. But after more than a year of marriage all she is able to conjure up is respect and a sort of a warm regard. If it weren’t for Tommy, she would have been content with that bland, respectable regard and her bland, respectable existence.

                Tommy…

                She told him she loved him and in that moment she had had his attention. That moment had given her hope, and she thought that perhaps there was a chance. But once again he has left her dangling, and once again he has not come for her. Grace has failed to move on from him before, but now she has to. She rests a hand on her stomach. Now there’s someone depending on her.

                Grace will move on, but she won’t lie anymore. Tomorrow she will tell her husband everything, and face the consequences of her actions. She doesn’t think Clive will leave her, but still her prospects don’t look good. At best, her husband will forgive her and pretend that the child is his. At worst (and Grace shudders at the thought of this) he’ll want to send the child away. If that happens, she will take her baby and leave. Grace doesn’t relish the prospect of facing the world alone with a child, heartbroken and destitute, but she’ll do it if she has to. And she _will_ make a life for them.

                Her train of thought is broken by the sound of her name. Clive is talking about her. Grace strains to hear his whispered conversation.

                “She went to bed early… feeling unwell… who _is_ this?”

                There’s a pause.

                “I see. I’ll get her.”


	2. Chapter 2

                Grace finds herself shaking as she picks up the phone. Perhaps it’s residual nausea, or perhaps nerves. She doesn’t care to analyze her discomfort. She would rather ignore it and do her best to put on a brave face. Her husband watches her anxiously as she puts the phone to her ear.

                “Hello?”

                “Are you ill?” Tommy’s voice is just a little bit hoarse, though she can’t tell whether it’s from smoke or whiskey or emotion. Probably whiskey: it was a good day for the Shelby family. He would be celebrating. Grace seethes.

                “What do you want, Thomas?”

                There is a pause, and then a hint of hesitation in is tone when he says, “I need to see you.”

                Grace finds herself stiffening as she fixes her gaze on a painting across the room. Need. Tommy doesn’t _need_ things. Not since… she thinks back to that night at the church, when his hand stroked her cheek and his lips oh so gently brushed up against hers.

                “Why?”

                “Grace,” he puts so much meaning into a single syllable. Thomas Shelby is not a man to fill the silence with useless conversation. Every word counts. Every word holds weight.

“We can talk,” he’d said, that day the fantasy ended, “We’re the same.” He had looked into her eyes. He had been desperate, almost begging, clinging to her, and stroking her face. All she could do was cry. She hadn’t even been able to get the truth out.  

                Lots of people talk to Grace. Lots of people tell her about their petty jealousies, their small-minded fears, and the skeletons in their closets. It’s why she did so well undercover. Grace always marvels at these displays. She isn’t sure, but she doubts that she herself has the capacity to put her vulnerability on show like this. She doesn’t glorify her weakness.

                Of course it was different with Tommy. She could never hold him at arm’s length like she did with other people, and she found herself affected by his words in ways that she had never been before.  It might have been nice to tell him things, if circumstances had been different, if he could have forgiven her for putting her loyalty to her country before her loyalty to their love.

                The thing about Tommy is that while he always listens carefully when she speaks, he doesn’t _expect_ her to tell him things. They don’t _need_ to talk; they can sit together in companionable silence, or carry out monosyllabic conversations, because they _understand_ each other. Or they did, before.

                None of that matters now, because Tommy has left her. Again. Once again there had been a clear choice to make, between business and love. And once again he had chosen business. Grace is willing to accept her share of the blame, but when it comes down to it he is the one who left _her_ waiting.

                “It’s too late.” Her voice is gentler than it ought to be, than she wants it to be.

                “Then you’ve come to a decision.” He sounds hollow, hurt. He has no right to be hurt.

                “What _exactly_ is there for me to decide?” Grace is suddenly very angry and very aware of Clive standing by her side, watching her warily. This is _not_ the way she wants him to find out. “After what I said to you today… I _waited_ for you. If anybody has made a decision, Tommy, it’s _you._ ”

                “Grace, I swear, it was business! It took longer than expected and I just got back. That’s why I’m calling you at fucking midnight.” He matches her fire with his own.

“ _Just_ business?”

                “Yes, Grace, _just_ business.” His voice takes on a desperate tone, “Please don’t make me do this over the telephone. Can I see you? I need to tell you some things… in person.”

                He’s being honest, or as honest as he is capable of. Grace can tell he’s tiptoeing around the _whole_ truth. He’ll tell her everything, though, if she meets with him. She’ll _make_ him tell her. Grace is still angry and hurt, but she finds that she’s interested in what he has to say.

                “Fine,” she says, “Tomorrow afternoon I’ll be near your house in London. I’ll swing by. And Thomas? Do _not_ make me wait again.” She hangs up the phone.

                “What was that about?” Clive asks, his face a picture of confusion, “I would have let you sleep, but he said that there was urgent family business. Thomas… is that one of your Uncle George’s sons?”

                Grace smiles weakly. She realizes that she is lying once again, though this time by omission. “I’m meeting with him tomorrow. We need to go over a few things. I’ll tell you about it when I get back.”

                Tomorrow, she thinks, trying not to stiffen as Clive kisses her goodnight. I’ll meet with Tommy and hear what he has to say, and then I’ll tell Clive and face the consequences. Whatever they may be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this was fun! Maybe I'll try it again sometime. If anyone can think of a good title for this fic, let me know. I'm terrible at coming up with titles.


End file.
